There once was a town in the world.
In this little town, lived a girl.
She barely could write,
But sat up all night.
Carefully carving each word.

The poem she wrote was a dream.
A thought that had grown, it'd seem.
The frailest of strands;
Words woven by hands.
Like droplets of diamond
Downstream.

The morning sun shone on the stairs.
He sat there, his face holding tears.
Her father, and all
That little girl called
Her family, burdened with fears.

She sat down beside the poor man.
Put paper inside his strong hand.
She left him to read,
As if sowing a seed.
And so, the whole healing began.

Her words had a life of their own.
Of wisdom beyond any known.
They spoke of a place
That was floating in space,
Yet it's beings were far from alone.

Why cry when there's laughter?  
Why fight when there's dance?
Why hate when there's family,
Fun and romance?

Her words were so simple, so clean.
Yet painted in colours unseen  
Through verses and lines,
And symbols and signs...
To adults, elders, infants and teens.

It took not religion, it seems.
No army, no guns or machines.
To shape this old world
To the words of a girl
With paper, a pen... and a dream.

My Middle East is torn
Divided into sects and stones
Desert full of rage
Ancient cities bearing witness to atrocities
In the name of the merciful
Let the killing begin
Seek justice in an afterlife
For God is deaf

Ceasefire!
long enough to bury her face
Under the classroom's desk
Or onto her dead mother's chest
Nameless casualties in numbers
Gaze at the brilliant night sky
Rain of shells, rekindling the dark-ages
No truce is left
For God is deaf

The Father carried his young one
A lifeless log returned to earth
Faith unshaken among shouts and prayers
Let the words avenge you
Curse the creator in whispers
And spiral not into an uncharted nihilistic ground
Fuel your hate
For God is deaf

Commemorate the dead
With roses on their heads
Or with poems on their gravestones instead
Morality embedded in poetry, blood is shed
Humanity on trial
Blame not my words
For God is deaf
And in my Middle East
He remains,
Undead.

For those of care.
Of care.

Have you ever heard
An ambulance crew's

Member talk a brittle little   
Old lady into a

Young, confident
One?

You should see
Those eyes awaken

With living fire; so unlike
Those

That made us
Call.

~

The night is silent
as evening drapes her cloth
above all that is seen
and shadows sit wondering…
what shapes will find them

Thoughts invade these hours
while fireflies sift through
evergreens now still,
seeking only but a soft breeze
whispering sweet dreams on feathered branches

And I sit here on the lawn,
counting minutes, feeling the emptiness
the midnight skies seep,
longing for what will come
on the eastern horizon

For that is where I shall find you,
glowing in tangerine ribbons,
painting pink clouds in dawn’s blushing brush strokes,
igniting a new day in effervescent colors…
as the sun rises and I smile

As once again we converse,
drinking coffee and loving life, enjoying
what comes from the awareness
that friendship truly does exist
with each new day we face

My passport says I'm 1.89
Metres tall. I carry pallet jacks
Up stairs at work.

I can bench press 130 kg
On a good day, about 30 more
Than I weigh.

I can punch through three layers
Of sheet rock, still I just
Picked up my cat

And held her a good while.
Because I needed
A hug.

~


Posy petal’d tear drops
on saffron colored morns
fall deep in the shadows
where sunshine is only a reflection
of the beauty once shared
~
Clouded days sing dreary sonnets
and all other butterflies are sad,
for those cherished wings
of brilliant colors
are gone from this field
~
Now a misty shade of gray
lingering in the thoughts
of one so missed…
finds the garden gates locked,
never to open again
~
Where rainbows once painted blue hydrangea skies
and daffodil promises carried our smiles,
sorrow now gathers in shapeless corners,
missing this butterfly
all had so come to adore
~
*and the earth weeps…

I eat so much fruit
These days. I've become
Addicted.

I sometimes go outside just
To taste the fresh breeze. Summer
Is almost over;  

Soon there'll be a threat of
Snow on the air at night.
So swiftly they go, the winter-

Less months. I will wake up
In the dark. Ice crystals on my
Bedroom

Window. I can make a print
Of my palm in them every
Morning, then.

Taste pure winter. Taste
Her on my fingers. My coldest
Lover.

Just us,
those last moments,
(not that we
expected them to be).

Those final words,
mundane,
with Ok
and See you
tomorrow then
or some such like.

Then the departure;
no last embrace,
no hint of final going
into the far off sunset.

Just us, my son,
those last words.

I cannot recall
your first words spoken
nor now your last
with any precision.

Your death was not
my idea or decision,
nor yours to decide
or to know it seems.

Surreal maybe
as in half sleeps
or waking dreams.

I talk to you still
even though you've gone
to other realms
beyond my sense so far.

Sometimes I sense you
passing out of my eye's
corner view
like some shooting
(did I see that?)
star.

Fragile blossoms
      Spring forth
Into summer rain
      Falling softly
Against their petals

My childhood was filled with Sundays
full of hellfire and brimstone
that burned more bridges down
than they ever built

As a child, my curiosity ran wild
always questioning the unquestioned
and all too often, the answer given
sounded more like a parable than epiphany

As an adult,  knowledge became flame
setting fire to the things once held as sacred and true
and I had to choose to either rise, a Phoenix, or
spend my life sifting through the ashes

Such a simple journey for some, but I took the long way home

Complacency is often mislabeled genius
In poems teeming with pretentious words
and trite metaphors bought in bulk
over compensations for a poem lacking depth

There's an elegance  in simplicity
a celestial spark, in the ability
to make the ordinary seem divine
and to turn simple into sacred

We are all gods, aching in our humanity
we are all oracles, with prophecies waiting to be told
So dip your pen a little deeper, press pen to paper
until heaven is felt in every verse

*G e n e s i s  is only a poem away